


Denial, Forgiveness

by farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Denial, Dirty Talk, Intercrural Sex, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Slightly Embarrassed Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: The bed hangings had not been drawn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DachOsmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/gifts).



The bed hangings with their bright-feathered birds and ferns of plumey silk had not been drawn, and Beshelar’s ears colored each time his glance flicked past the bed. All the evasive gazing in the world, however, could not keep him from seeing how the Emperor was pinned beneath his wife’s avid, wiry frame, her hands so slender and pale against skin the color of storm that Beshelar caught his breath at the sight. For a dizzying moment he was unsure who he envied, the Emperor crying out breathlessly at the touch of those beautiful hands along the slender lengths of his arms and shoulders, or the Empress provoking those soft, needy cries. _Keep to your work, degenerate_ , he ordered himself. Ordinarily it was him in the hallway, but Cala had lingered following the late session of the Corazhas to answer some sort of question the Emperor had regarding the hierarchy of the Athmaz’are, leaving Beshelar to eat first, then watch first. Now he cast longing glances toward the door, wondering if he were to ask Cala if the objects of his discomfiture would realize and revile him. Or, indeed, whether he could be trusted alone in the dark, silent Alcethmeret corridor not to attempt some sort of relief of the cockstand he had felt burgeoning since the two had taken to their bed.

Csethiro’s palm encircled the base of the Emperor’s shaft. The thickly ridged organ was already rigidly erect and flushed a deep indigo, a drop of moisture already forming on the slit. “Art so near already,” she purred, “I fancy I might drag thee to finish so, with only words and fingers.”

“How cruelly thou usest me,” Edrehasivar gasped, the raw hunger in his voice still not eclipsing the humor and affection. Where once the teasing banter of the bedchamber had left him floundering, he now gave back to his wife (similarly unsure at first) with a note of the ever-present earnest kindness that underlay every word he said, that no affectation could ever eclipse. Beshelar shifted in place, doing his best to focus his eyes anywhere but on the two entwined before him, his mind on anything but the quiet strength and sheer affectionate sweetness of the beautiful, dusky shadow before him and the sharp, plain-spoken duelist who stood beside him in all things. “We… I… do what thou wilt with me, only touch me more, touch… _ohhh._ ”

Near the entirety of Edreshasivar’s left ear was suddenly in Csethiro’s mouth.  As if tasting some delicate sweet she drew her lips up the length, tongue lingering in the hollow of its point in a way that made him writhe. “One day I _will_ make thee reach crisis without a single touch of this,” she murmured, drawing the back of a single blue-lacquered nail up the swollen vein that ran along the underside of the Emperor’s shaft. “Art so wonderfully sensitive. With only these—“ (a soft bite to the tip of one ear) “and these—“ (a brush of her thumb over the Emperor’s dark, tender nipples in turn) “and those other places thou so likest I fancy I might render thee still more of a desperate, wanton thing than usual.”

Edrehasivar buried his face in the spun moonlight of his wife’s hair, his emphatic nods and muffled pleas conveying his obvious enjoyment of the idea. Beshelar bit the inner corner of his lip, smothering a curse. He himself had never reached climax without attention to the relevant, organs, but trapped as he was, bound and obliged to watch the scene before him not by chains or threats but by the greater, more terrible bonds of duty and tradition, he wondered if this would finally make him do so. The way the pretty youth that was his Emperor arched his back at the press of his wife's eager fingers along his back, her cry as he slid his hands over the full mounds of her breasts... his cock throbbed obscenely, every tiny shift of his posture seeming to drag him closer to humiliating himself before the lord he was pledged to, soul and ( _say it, degenerate_ ) body.

Whatever pitiful pleas Edrehasivar may have employed, however, seemed to move his lady wife past such teasing (teasing Beshelar had seen her carry on for hours until her husband was half-sobbing with the pain and sweetness of her denial.) “Lie back,” she said, easing herself along the Emperor’s body to the crux of his hips before parting her legs. A flash of warm pink edged with silken white burned itself into Beshelar’s vision even in the dim gaslight, and then she was astride the Emperor’s cock, lowering herself onto it with a deliberate, voluptuous leisure that made Beshelar ache. He had given up any pretense of not watching, gaze resting on the bed even as he prepared himself to look away with a less-than-professional flush and muttered apology were his attention to be noticed.

“I’ve imagined this all day,” Edrehasivar admitted with a self-conscious dip of his lashes. One hand cupped the swell of Csethiro’s hip as he plied the other between her legs. Her soft gasps of pleasure and direction of his hand, refined by too many encounters for Beshelar to have counted by now, indicated how close she was. “To pause in my attention to the Corazhas to imagine all the ways I might pleasure thee once I’m in thine arms again… it makes the duty sweeter than I might ever have imagined it could be.” The Emperor’s breath was ragged, edges of the words stilted with the force of Csethiro’s motion along his cock. Surely he was closer than he had any right to be. Somehow, Beshelar could not find it in himself to judge him.

“Maia… merciful goddesses, have me then, fill me with thy seed until thou achest too much to continue, until thine issue drips from me… oh, gods, yes, fuck me thou beautiful creature…” As ever, whether through her own machinations or through the Emperor’s stubborn resolve to hold back until she might be sated, Csethiro climaxed first, shoulders and ears and breasts flushing a fervid red as she spent around the full length of her husband’s shaft with a ragged cry. A handful of further thrusts and Edrehasivar followed suit with a complete cessation of noise, the only indication an enthusiastic increase in the speed of his thrusts and Csethiro’s triumphant encouragement. His eyes flickered open only to meet Beshelar’s, and he smiled, a shy, tentative smile that near undid Beshelar with its very sweetness.

“Beshelar,” he began, casting a glance toward where Csethiro straddled him, his softening cock still buried inside her. “Love, shall we…”

In answer, Csethiro glanced toward Beshelar as well, her gaze heating his skin to the roots of his hair as she slid off of her husband onto the bed beside him. “I would say he has earned his reward. Which of us wouldst have, Lieutenant?”

With the air of a man unsure of his waking status, Beshelar approached the bed, pulling off his boots as he went, only to be pulled down onto it bodily by broad, slate-grey hands. Lips suddenly pressed to the Emperor’s, he was acutely aware of how many layers of clothing lay between them even as Edrehasivar fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers. “Thou knowest that if thou wert only to ask we would have thee between us from the start,” he murmured, palming the length of Beshelar’s cock to elicit a low, desperate groan.

“Perhaps one day,” Beshelar began, pausing to duck his head through the collar of his tabard, then his shirt as Csethiro rid him of both.

“Perhaps when thou needst not have us visit such punishment on thee for daring to act as anything other than a marble statue, thou mean’st,” Csethiro murmured, soft breath ghosting over his ear like a caress in itself. “Maia, wilt let him do something before he expires from sheer frustration?”

In answer, Edrehasivar rolled over until Beshelar covered him from behind, pressing Beshelar's shaft between dark, graceful thighs. It was ridiculous, he ought to have waited until the Emperor was once again ready, delaying his own pleasure until he might use it to bring some measure to his lord, but he was only a man—a perverse reprobate man, too greedy of this position between those he served to move or do anything but obey the dictates of his ardor. Heart pounding as if he had spent the last hour sparring in the Untheleineise yard, thighs straining, cock already leaving wet trails where the tip brushed Edrehasivar’s thighs, Beshelar began to thrust forward with the wild abandon of a starving man breaking his fast. The warmth, the firm columns of flesh that clenched his organ with every thrust drew his balls tight and quickened his pulse until in moments, trousers still covering his hips, face buried in the Emperor’s shoulder he came with the humiliating speed of a michen only beginning to discover the pleasure his cock could bring him. He hoarsely groaned and panted, his seed spilled in thick ropes over the bedsheets and the Emperor’s thighs and it was not enough and it was too much and the pleasure was so close to pain that he could not rightly tell which to name it. He slumped forward across Edrehasivar’s back, breath shallow and skin sensitive with aftershocks.

Behind him, he felt the soft press of Csethiro’s curves against his back and fought the urge to hide his face. It was improper in the extreme, this arrangement. He should not have needed it, but yet the Emperor’s stubbornness, his ridiculous, goblin-like determination to cater to the whims of those who composed his household, had created the arrangement and to spit in the face of that would be by far the worse sin. “Well served, our First,” Edrehasivar told him with a press of lips to the back of Beshelar's knuckles, turning over to fully embrace both him and Csethiro.

"Forgive us," Beshelar murmured, the formal grammar the single shield of his modesty. He opened his mouth to speak further, only to fall into silence at the press of broad, gentle fingers against his lips.

"We would gladly have absolved thee of guilt upon admitting it, had we been uninterested," the Emperor told him, raising himself up onto one elbow to face Beshelar. "But this... Beshelar, there is nothing to forgive here."

"None of the others require this," Beshelar muttered, entirely aware of the petulant note in the words.

"None of the others  _desire_ this. Thou canst hardly deny that this must fall under thine office of caring for the body of the Emperor," Edrehasivar replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes that quickly dissolved into earnestness once more even as Csethiro chuckled from behind him. "And truly, it must be better to indulge such a harmless thing than to repress it and allow it to fester and grow into something less pleasant. Surely thou, so tasked with attending to another's well-being, must realize that."

Beshelar drew a deep breath. "Then forgive us our obstinacy."

"Thou art forgiven. We will even forgive thee for begging our forgiveness once more," Csethiro told him, the hint of a smile in her voice adding a dawn-rosy tint to the plural as she reached forward to embrace them both in turn.

**Author's Note:**

> So when I saw your request letter I was about thisclose to just ditching everything and writing you a treat for every fandom you requested (with the exception of Every Heart a Doorway, which I haven't read.) Clearly the solution to this is to sign up for more challenges so I can keep writing you stuff about the fandoms we share. :D In any case, I hope you enjoy this single paltry contribution to your treat pile and I wish you a very happy Yuletide indeed.


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